


Awkward

by Scrunchles



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety Scout, M/M, Named Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 09:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4871308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrunchles/pseuds/Scrunchles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mick Mundy spurns a proposition at work, then goes through a lot of trouble to set things right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awkward

He had been coming in for the past few months, and only recently spent every day of Mick’s shift sitting at his station, occasionally ordering a drink, but mostly watching reruns of the gritty cop show that ended last year.  At first, Mick thought that he might just not have a TV, and a few drinks a week was worth not paying a cable bill.  Then he came in twice a week, then three times, took a week off and now, this was the week he hadn’t missed a day. 

 

Mick heard thin, long fingers drum on the counter twice, and he grabbed the bottle of whiskey the kid liked and poured him another shot.  He flashed the kid a smile and was about to turn away, when a hand grabbed his arm.

 

"So, you doin' anything later tonight?" It was a confident gesture, and an embarrassing one in front of his coworkers.  Besides, the kid had barely spoken to him since he started coming in.  “Thanks,” “another,” and, “yes,” were the only words he could really remember with certainty.

 

"You mean later this morning?"  Mick raised a brow at him and began to reorganize the bar.  "Sleepin'.  Don't suppose that's what you're interested in, though."

 

Mick had never heard confidence drop into scrambling panic so fast.  

 

“No! I mean... I wanted to... I just uh… Thought... _Not_ that you--" he cut himself off, like he realized he was stumbling, and cast his eyes down, unkempt bangs falling into his face.

 

 

“Hey, kid, I didn’t—“ but he was already standing and heading for the door, and it was all Mick could do not to physically kick himself in the ass.

 

There was silence in the bar for a moment, then his coworkers seemed to make noise all at once.  A cough, a cluck and a chuckle.

 

"Christ, Mick. Think you rattled him enough?"  Dell asked, flipping the "closed" sign after a sympathetic glance out after the young man.

 

Mick shrugged and continued to tidy the bar.  "I didn't do anything."

 

Dell raised a brow, and a man with a voice deeper than either of theirs rumbled from a corner table, " _do not suppose that is what you are interested in._ "  Misha, a hulking man in a tight black t-shirt with "muscle” written on the front and back, flashed Mick a mocking, lecherous look.  

 

"Oh, come off it."  Mick rolled his eyes and grabbed a rag to give the bar one last wipe down and noticed a black fold of leather against the dark lacquer of the bar.  "Goddammit," he sighed, picking it up and hesitating to open it.  He knew whose it was.  The kid had been sitting on the same barstool for the past few months and Mick had seen his wallet more times than he could count.  He paid as soon he was served, and usually drank until he ran out of anything smaller than a twenty, then cut himself off and either left or just sat there, watching the TV, Mick's ass (according to Misha), or sometimes awkwardly casting glances at a drunken couple making out in the corner.

 

"Hey, Dell, that kid left his wallet."

 

"Put it in your register—he'll be back tomorrow."  The stocky owner of the bar winked at him as he began wiping down tables and flipping the chairs up onto the clean tops.

 

"After that bloody fiasco?"  Mick half groaned.

 

"He'll either be back from force of habit or just back 'cause it's his wallet.  Put it in there and help me close up."  Dell told him, putting his hands on his hips and cocking his head to the side.

 

Mick sighed and did as he was told.  He figured that Dell was right-- he usually was-- he would just give it back to the kid tomorrow, and maybe he would be so embarrassed that he would move down the bar to order his drinks from Tavish instead.

 

By the end of the week, the bar hadn't seen the kid at all, and at the end of the second week, Mick thought he saw a familiar face pass by the door right before they opened, but he didn't stop or even look at the door.

 

A third week passed, and Dell and Tavish had started making jokes about him breaking the kid's spirit.  Misha even mentioned that it wasn't uncommon for a spurned suitor to jump off the bridge in his hometown.  

 

Mick just ignored them and shut his drawer on the wallet.  Maybe he just didn't remember where he left it.  He'd probably backtrack to it eventually, and then maybe he could apologize for... whatever he'd done.  Mick didn't really remember what had set the kid off, but maybe he'd been mean somehow with his tone or he'd said something hasty.

 

Another week passed without a sign from the owner of the wallet, and Mick found himself caring less.  It was just a wallet, and when he finally looked inside, there was just a school ID, a state ID, two debit cards, fifty bucks and a few old prescription papers that were so old, they'd been worn out to where he couldn't read them.  He shredded the debit cards and prescriptions before rubber banding the IDs and cash together and put them in an envelope with the kid’s name on it.

 

Mick was out for a half gallon of milk at five in the morning when he saw a grown out mop of messy hair topped with a knitted cap across the street.  He hesitated mid-step and studied the young man hard, unsure if he was deceiving himself.  Even at the risk of embarrassing himself, he should try to catch up to the kid and… apologize or let him know he had his stuff.

 

"Oi!"  He called across the street, glancing both ways and trying to cross semi-safely without a crosswalk.  "Hey, eh... Ethan?" 

 

The younger man kept moving, but glanced back over his shoulder at Mick, who was finally finishing his jog across the street.  He looked surprised and stopped for a moment, then panic crossed his face, and he took off.  

 

"Oh, Christ..."  Mick took a deep breath of winter air and then began running after the kid, counting on his longer legs to make up the distance... or at least bring him within a distance that he could yell at the kid to stop without sounding menacing.

 

He saw his chance to catch up when the younger man slowed slightly to turn a corner, and put on a burst of speed.  He scraped his hand on the bricks of the building and slid to a panting halt when he saw that he  _had_  caught up... the kid was just scaling a bloody eight foot tall fence and gracefully dropped down on the other side a few seconds later.  

 

"Wait!"  

 

The kid didn't.  

 

"Hey! would you bloody stop now that the fence is between us?  Crickey..."  Mick puffed out a warm breath into the frigid air and stood a respectable distance from the fence as the kid slowed, and, not even giving a hint that he was winded, turned and stood with his jaw clenched and looking like he expected Mick to start a fight.

 

"You forgot your wallet."  He said, after considering why he'd been chasing the young man.  He didn't answer, and Mick immediately felt the back of his neck heat.  "At the bar.  'been under my register for a month, haven't seen you 'round.  Just... thought I'd tell ya..."

 

Silence again.

 

"I shredded the cards and prescriptions."  

 

The young man winced.

 

"There's fifty bucks and your IDs back at the bar... if you ever want to come 'round again."

 

Something else passed across his face, and it looked a little bit like regret.

 

"Ah... if... you're worried about what happened... it's not the first time I've been propositioned at work.  I don't mind it, part of the job.  It's not gonna make anything awkward for me... if you're worried?"  Mick still wasn't sure what was up with the kid, because his expression still didn't change, he didn't say anything, just stood there, looking pale and worried and like he'd rather be doing anything else than talk to Mick.

 

They stood there for a long time, and at times, Mick thought this kid, Ethan, might be about to answer him, but he just stood there and the look on his face began to go back and forth, back and forth between fear, relief and fear again.

 

"You don't have to... I mean _, 'course_ you don't..."  Mick cleared his throat and sighed when it appeared he wasn't going to get anything from the kid.  "I'm just glad you're okay. Sorry 'bout the chase, and if you get the urge for a drink 'gain, the first one's on me."  Mick took an awkward step back and began to turn away.

 

"My name's Ean."  It wasn't soft, but it was barely audible, to the point that Mick doubted he'd said anything until he turned back around and saw Ean's lips slightly parted.

 

"Well, Ean, I'll see you 'round."  Mick smiled at him and raised his hand in a slight wave before turning back around and attempting to remember why he'd left his apartment in the first place.

 

It took two days, but Mick turned around on a busy Friday night to see blue eyes fixed on him.  He tried to put on his most disarming smile and nodded at him before continuing his work.  He made the drinks that had come before Ean, and then poured the young man a shot of whiskey and placed a coke next to it. 

 

“On the house,” Mick reminded him, when he pulled out a rubber band of cards and cash.

 

He heard a soft “thank you” and smiled as he turned away to take another order. 

 

Ean stayed until the crowd started to thin out.  He only had one more shot after his first before relaxing into watching the TV and sipping his coke.  Mick thought he felt the kid’s eyes on him a few times, but each time he turned around, his attention was back on the TV.

 

He put cash for his second shot on the bar and looked like he was deciding whether he should say anything or just leave when Mick stepped forward and leaned across the bar.  “I’ll go get your stuff, wait a moment?”

 

Ean looked stunned, but nodded and swallowed before looking down and awkwardly taking his seat at the bar again.

 

Mick went into the back office and opened up the safe.  Ean’s ID, two twenties and a ten were still banded in an envelope at the bottom where he’d tossed them two weeks ago.

 

He remembered the first time he’d seen the kid, plopped down and more interested in the TV than the selection of bottles he kept on display behind him.  He’d asked what he could get him and he’d asked for “a pop.”

 

Mick watched him drink his way through two before guiding him through a whiskey tasting.  He choked on the first one, and when Mick had taught him to chase it with coke and eat peanuts between shots, after he’d chugged half a can of Coke, he’d laughed.

 

Mick let him have three shots before he cut him off and told him he’d have to come back and try more another night.  He’d called him a lightweight.  Ean had smiled.

 

Mick sighed and ran a hand through his hair before locking back up and heading back out to the bar proper, the envelope tucked in his back pocket.

 

Ean was still sitting on his barstool, flanked by Misha and Dell.  Tavish stood at Mick’s drink station, leaning his hip on the bar and sliding upended jiggers around the slick surface like the conman he was.

 

“Left,” Ean said without hesitation.

 

“Right,” Tavish replied with a grin.

 

Ean smiled before Tavish held up the jigger to Ean’s left.  There was nothing beneath.  His face fell and Tavish picked up the right jigger with a smirk, revealing the peanut.

 

“Fuck off, all of you,” Mick snapped. 

 

Tavish grinned sheepishly and put his hand on a stack of two fives and three tens on the counter.

 

“Do it again,” Ean demanded, throwing two twenties on top of Tavish’s hand.  A Boston accent cut through his speech.

 

Surprise crossed Mick’s face before he smiled and turned his attention to Tavish.

 

Tavish shrugged and slowly began resetting the jiggers, his eyes on Mick the whole time.

 

Mick nodded at him and leaned on the counter.  “I better not see you cheat him, DeGroot.”

 

“Got a soft spot, Mundy?”  Tavish teased him, reaching over with a long leg to kick Mick’s foot lightly, his deft hands never faltering.

 

Mick scoffed, but he felt his chest heat when Ean glanced at him.  He ducked down to get a beer for himself and leaned his cheek on his fist when he came back up, hoping the blush creeping up his neck would fade before he started looking suspicious.

 

He watched Tavish like a hawk as he began moving the jiggers around.  Tavish focused only on Ean, and Ean’s eyes never left Tavish’s hands and the shining jiggers flashing between his dark fingers, barely making a whisper across the bar.

 

Ean won and Tavish chuckled, moving to put the jiggers away as he ate the peanut he’d been playing with. 

 

“Well, ’m out—“

 

“Double it again,” Mick cut Tavish off, setting his untouched beer down and hopping over the bar. 

 

“Mick, ye don’t get tae play,” Tavish told him, wagging a finger at him.  He turned to Ean and rested a hand on his shoulder.  The kid didn’t seem to appreciate it, but when Tavish told him, “Mick cheats my cheats, it’s not bloody fair!” he grinned and looked at Mick with a raised brow.

 

Mick winked at him and nudged Dell out of the way.  “Put your eighty down, DeGroot,” Mick ordered, pulling out his own wallet to buy into their match.

 

“Bloody fecking…”

 

“I told you this was bad idea,” Misha rumbled from his spot on the other side of Ean. 

 

“Always listen to the advice of a Russian, kid,” Dell told Ean, wedging himself between Misha and Ean at the bar.

 

Tavish finally relinquished his money to the pot and slid it over so that he could set up his jiggers and set another peanut down on the bar space between Mick and Ean.  “Can I jus’ give it to ye?” he asked, reluctantly beginning to slide the metal bits across the bar in slow, deliberate patterns.

 

“Nah, mate.  Gotta suffer for trying to scam Ean when my back was turned.”

 

“Ach,” Tavish scoffed in disapproval.

 

“You pick first, Ean, I’ll pick second.  Winner takes all.”  Mick’s eyes never left the jiggers.

 

“We’re pickin’ at the same time,” Ean corrected him, his eyes locked on the jiggers as they steadily flashed quicker.

 

“Right,” Mick agreed with a smile.

 

Tavish continued switching and sliding the jiggers across the bar for almost a full minute before finally allowing them to slow and then come to a full stop.

 

Mick reached out at the same time as Ean, and they both picked their jiggers.  Ean picked the left again, and Mick touched the middle jigger.

 

Tavish flipped Ean’s first—empty.

 

Ean sighed and slumped on his barstool.

 

He flipped Mick’s and the peanut barely stood out against the bar in the dim light.

 

“Fuckin’ unbelievable,” Ean said.

 

“Believe it.  In seven years, Tavish has never beat out Mick’s eyes,” Dell boasted for him.

 

Mick chuckled and picked up the stack of cash. 

 

“Fuck you, Mick,” Tavish grabbed Mick’s beer and set it before him.  “ ‘n’ finish what you start, _mate_.”

 

Mick counted out half of the money and handed it to Ean.  “Your cut, kid.”

 

“It’s yours,” Ean told him, not reaching for the cash.

 

“Hey.” Mick pulled the envelope out of his back pocket and shuffled the cash into it.  “Drinks for the next few months,” he said, handing it to Ean.  “Tip your bartender.”

 

Ean rolled his eyes and let Mick put the envelope in his hand.

 

Mick kept his hand on the envelope, and glanced at his coworkers.  “You guys can leave any time,” he told them.

 

The other men dispersed, and Mick finally turned his attention back to Ean.

 

“I know it’s been a month and a half,” Mick mentioned softly.  “But… I actually would like to take you up on that ‘later tonight.’ “

 

“Oh.”  Ean swallowed and pulled his hand back with the envelope.  Mick let it slip away.  “I, uh… I can’t… uh… tonight, but uh—“

 

Mick waved his hand.  “Change your mind, I’ll be here every Monday through Saturday night for the next ten years—“

 

“It’s not that.”  Ean shoved the envelope into his jacket pocket and his ears started turning red.  “Is like… Saturday morning or afternoon okay?” he asked, when Mick seemed to be expecting a further explanation.

 

“Saturday works fine.”

 

Ean seemed to inflate just a little bit and his expression stretched into a smile again.  “Uh… how about that Italian place over on 3rd and Elm?” 

 

“Sounds great.  Lunch at noon?” Mick offered.

 

“Yeah,” Ean nodded, his smile evolving into a grin.  “Yeah, lunch at noon, Saturday, Italian place.”

 

“Feckin’ finally,” Tavish mumbled across the bar.

 

Ean bit his lip and the confidence shrank from him.  He glanced at Mick’s coworkers before standing and shoving his hands in his pockets.  “I’ll see you then,” he said quickly before heading for the door.

 

Mick shot Tavish a glare but only received a shrug in reply.

 

Mick didn’t see Ean for several days, and when Friday morning rolled around, he just assumed that he wouldn’t see the younger man until their date on Saturday.  Mostly what he wanted at that particular time was to go home, wash off the smell of booze and fall into bed.

 

It was his night to close up.  Misha was ushering out the last two stumblers into the wee hours of the morning just as Ean stepped up to the door. 

 

“We are closing,” he mentioned to him, pointedly looking at one of the men he had just turned out.  The man waved his look off and stumbled over to sit on the curb with his cellphone and muddle through calling a cab.

 

“Ah… yeah, I just wanted to talk to Mick,” Ean told him, though he didn’t enter the bar yet, respecting the closed sign.

 

“Go ahead.  Lock door behind you, he is still cleaning.  I am going home,” Misha told Ean.  He gave him a kind smile to soften his stilted phrasing and shooed him toward the door before walking over to the man with the cellphone and taking it from him.

 

Mick watched from inside the bar, but pretended to still be busy when Ean entered.  He looked up and flashed Ean a smile as he hesitantly turned the deadbolt.

 

“What can I get for ya?” he asked, reaching for a glass.

 

“Nothing tonight—uh… this morning.”  Ean rubbed the back of his neck and Mick realized that he looked tired.

 

He raised a brow and put the glass on the bar anyway.  “Social call, then?”

 

“Kinda,” Ean said, biting his lip and nodding.

 

“You here to cancel on me?” Mick asked, pouring a shot of whiskey and leaning on the bar.

 

“I… it’s not you;  I just can’t deal with the stress right now,”  Ean said quickly.

 

“Stress?” Mick asked.

 

“Yeah, I… first dates are hard, there’s a lot to worry about and I’m in school and I just… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have put myself out there if…” Ean trailed off when Mick pulled out a cold coke and opened it up, setting it next to the shot.  “What are you doing?” he asked, watching Mick begin to mix himself a drink.

 

“Wanna have drinks with me?” Mick asked, capping the cocktail mixer and shaking it with his right hand as he grabbed a glass with his left.

 

“Uhm…”

 

“Okay with you if I bump up our date a little?”

 

Ean looked absolutely terrified for a moment before he seemed to realize what Mick was trying to do.

 

“Yeah, okay.”  Ean wiped his palms on his jeans before he reached for the shot.  He laughed a little when Mick poured himself a bright pink concoction and added an umbrella.

 

“What?” he asked.

 

“Nothin’.”  Ean knocked back the shot and chased it with a sip of Coke.

 

“I’ve still got to close up, but just give me twenty minutes and we’ll get the first date out of the way, yeah?” Mick told him, sipping his drink as he began opening up and stacking the cash drawers.

 

Ean flushed and moved to sit on his usual bar stool with his drink.

 

Mick retreated to the back office and counted the drawers quickly before shoving them in the safe.  He could do all the paperwork the next evening and apologize to Dell later.

 

When he emerged again, he found that Ean was a lot more relaxed.

 

“You want to go out or eat here?  There’s not much, but I think there’s some random sandwich stuff in the break room,” he mentioned.

 

“No where decent’s open at this time, so… I guess sandwiches.”

 

Mick grinned and led Ean back to the bar’s breakroom.

 

“What kind of refrigerator only has bread, mustard, cheese and grape jelly in it?”  Ean asked later, after they had eaten an unsatisfying meal and had settled on the couch.  They had two spoons and were carefully picking through a carton of chocolate ice cream for the parts that weren’t freezer burnt.

 

“I’m tellin’ ya.  Should’ve tried the jelly.  Really pulled the sandwich together,” Mick told Ean, an arm behind him across the back of the couch and the ice cream wedged between their thighs.

 

Ean snorted and muttered, “yeah, right,” as he flipped through the infomercials with one hand and licked at an almost-savory bite of ice cream with the other.  He got to a gooey freezer burnt bit on his tongue and leaned forward to spit it into the top of the carton.  “Okay, I’m done,” he told Mick, putting his spoon on the top and shaking his head.  “Worst first date ever,” he told Mick.  He was smiling as he settled back, though, and rested his head on Mick’s arm.

 

Mick chuckled and put his own spoon in the carton and shifted to set it on the coffee table before the couch.  “Well, tomorrow’s lunch can’t go wrong, then, can it?” he pointed out.

 

Ean turned to smile at him sleepily and Mick caught his lips in a kiss.  It wasn’t good, and it didn’t last long, but it felt natural.

 

“Mm… sorry,” Mick told him when Ean pulled away.

 

“Don’t be,” Ean told him, licking his lips.  “It’s just… those sandwiches probably made my mouth taste like shit and the icecream and—“

 

Mick kissed him again, more deeply.  “Yeah,” he agreed when he pulled away, laughing.  He settled back against the couch again and closed his eyes, letting his head fall back with his eyes closed.  “Make sure you brush your teeth so I can kiss you properly before our second date.”

 

“ ‘Kay,” Ean agreed. He leaned against Mick’s chest when the Aussie’s hand came down to rest on his shoulder.  “This was nice,” he told Mick.

 

“Mhm...” Mick gave Ean a squeeze.

 

With the TV as a background noise, they fell asleep.

 


End file.
